


Boise, ID

by Charlie Snow (Algedonic)



Series: Like Pins In A Map [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, Underage Kissing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-30
Updated: 2013-07-30
Packaged: 2017-12-21 22:21:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/905614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Algedonic/pseuds/Charlie%20Snow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It has all the things playgrounds have and one thing they don’t; four small time-worn letters etched into a post under the slide.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Boise, ID

**Author's Note:**

> Non-explicit weecest. Sam is 15.

There’s a playground in downtown Boise Idaho. It’s more-or-less ordinary, has swings and slides and little platforms and bridges, a firepole and those metal tube things that come up out of the ground for talking to each other from opposite ends of the park. It has monkey bars and gravel, the whole wooden structure carrying the memories of every kid who every played there, laughter and scraped knees and life-or-death games of hot lava monster. It has all the things playgrounds have and one thing they don’t; four small time-worn letters etched into a post under the slide.

Sam and Dean stay in a motel a few blocks away when Sam is fifteen, dad gone on a hunt over in Montana. They quickly realize there isn’t an awful lot to do in Boise, and start walking to the park every evening as the sun starts to dip toward the horizon and the hot, dry air starts to cool, just for a change of scenery.

Sam likes the monkey bars and Dean likes the slide, but a lot of the time they end up on the swings, seeing who can jump the farthest or spinning the chains up until their toes barely touch the ground, laughing and dizzy when they let go. Sometimes they just sit there, gently rocking back and forth, quiet as the traffic thins and the stars come out. 

"Hey, Sammy. Look!" Dean says excitedly one night, gesturing in the half-light.

"What?" Sam asks, confused. 

"They’ve got those weird tube things. You know, like you talk through?" He’s already up and moving, and Sam can’t help but smile. “Come on. You take this one, I’ll go find the other one."

Sure enough, off to the side of the playground, there’s a thick blue metal tube sticking up out of the ground. Obviously meant for little kids, it comes up just high enough that Sam can sit cross-legged in the gravel and be level with the funnel-like mouthpiece. 

"You’re such a dork." Sam says into it, smiling as he hears a crunch in the rocks across the park.

"Shut up," the tube says back, Dean’s voice coming out echo-y and distorted, “these things are awesome."

Sam flicks the metal, listens as it reverberates down the tube under the playground. “Like I said. You’re a dork."

"You love it." Dean says confidently.

"You sure about that?"

"Of course I am. Cause you’re a nerd, and nerds and dorks go together like… like…"

"Peanut butter and jelly?" Sam suggests.

"Exactly. Like peanut butter and jelly."

"So now we’re a sandwich?"

"Not just any sandwich, Sammy. The most beloved, delicious, downright _classic_ sandwich ever. With the crusts cut off. People write songs about us and kids all over America sing them on playgrounds just like this one."

Sam grins. “So who’s peanut butter and who’s jelly?"

"You’re jelly. Definitely."

"Why?"

"Because I’m peanut butter. Obviously."

Sam rolls his eyes. “But _why_?"

Dean is quiet for a moment. “Because you’re sweet."

Sam’s skin prickles. He feels his palms start to sweat. Him and Dean have been dancing toward _something_ for months now, and it’s kind of scary but also really, _really_ exciting. “Oh?"

"And because without you to balance me out I don’t taste that good, and make the bread stick to the roof of your mouth."

Sam’s heart decides to divide and conquer, one half camped out in his throat, the other down below his bellybutton. “Jelly’s pretty useless as a condiment without peanut butter there watching it’s back."

"Not true. Jelly’s a badass condiment. Jelly can do whatever it wants."

Sam slides his fingers down the side of the tube. “Are we still talking about sandwiches, Dean?"

There’s a pause. “Were we ever talking about sandwiches?"

"Touche." Sam says. 

They sit there in silence for a minute or two, on opposite ends of the playground, feeling like they’re on the verge of something.

"Tell me a secret."

"What?" Sam asks.

"Tell me a secret." Dean repeats. “That’s what these things are for. Telling secrets. So tell me one."

Sam takes a deep breath, closes his eyes and lets his forehead rest against the cool metal rim of the mouthpiece. Sam’s only got one secret from Dean, and he’s pretty sure it’s not even really a secret. “You remember Charlotte? Your girlfriend in Boulder?" 

"Yeah."

"I hated her."

A beat. “Why?"

"Why do you think, Dean?"

"I don’t know. Tell me."

Sam squeezes his eyes shut tighter, heart hammering away in his chest, wipes his sweaty palms on the legs of his jeans. “I was jealous of her."

He waits. Silence. A car drives by and for one quick second he can see Dean, sitting stone-still in the gravel on the opposite side of the park.

"Say something." He begs quietly.

"Peanut butter thinks jelly should meet him under the slide in thirty seconds."

"Okay." Sam says, so nervous his knees feel wobbly as he pushes himself to his feet, gravel crunching with each step. 

They get there at the same time, crawl under the wooden platform at the top of the slide and Dean just sort of looks at him for a minute while Sam’s stomach flip-flops uncontrollably and he stares at his hands. 

"Sammy. Look at me."

Sam looks up.

"Are you…" Dean swallows, and Sam actually feels a little bit better knowing that Dean is nervous too, “are you sure?"

Sam nods. “I mean… I’m not imagining things, right? It’s not just me?"

"No," Dean says, “no, it’s not just you, you’re not-" Dean clears his throat, “you gotta be _sure_ , Sam."

The world seems far away, like everything - civilization and nature and time itself - stopped and fell away and left behind only him and Dean and this tiny patch of gravel under a slide in Boise Idaho. “I am. Dean. I’m sure."

Dean lets out a heavy breath, sort of awestruck look on his face, tentatively slides his hand into Sam’s hair. Sam is hyper-aware of it, electricity zinging out in a wave over his skin and making goosebumps rise on his arms, point of contact like the epicenter of an earthquake. “Can I kiss you?" Dean asks, kind of ragged and so quiet Sam barely hears it. “Sam?"

"Please," he chokes, “yes."

It’s _brilliant_. Soft press of lips, gentle, and the first touch effectively short-circuits what’s left of Sam’s brain. He sighs a little and his lips part and his fingers clutch at Dean’s thighs at the absolute _enormity_ of this moment, Dean’s fingers in his hair and light on his chin, Dean’s tongue just barely brushing his bottom lip. 

He never thought a kiss could feel like this, like the stars aligning and puzzle pieces slotting into place so fast it makes his head spin, like everything is _right_ , exactly as it should be, one perfect moment like an island of surety in the middle of the Sea of Uncertainty. 

They’re breathless as they separate, eyes wide and _aware_ of each other in a way they’ve never really been before.

"Wow." Sam manages.

"Yeah." Dean’s fingers curl in Sam’s hair and he tugs him in again, quick, chaste kisses on his forehead, his lips. 

They don’t say anything for a few minutes, don’t think they really need to.

"Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"You got your knife on you?"

Dean smiles, fishes it out of his pocket, holds it out in his palm. “‘Course I do."

Sam takes it, looks around in the dim glow of faraway streetlights. “Where should we-"

"Here." Dean says, running his fingers over a smooth patch of wood on a post to his right. “Right here."

S.W. 

D.W.

There’s a playground in a park in downtown Boise where two boys kissed for the first time and carved each other’s initials into a wooden post under the slide. Kids come and go, grow up and move away, but the park stays, and every time tiny fingers trace the letters and a little girl or boy wonders about the people that really must have loved each other a lot to want to leave behind a piece of themselves, right here under the slide, it remembers.


End file.
